


This Hour of the Dead

by Cinaed



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, M/M, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-27
Updated: 2006-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the travelers are told that a Wraith lives in the woods, they laugh, because everyone knows that the Wraith aren't real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Hour of the Dead

When they were first warned of the Wraith that dwelled in the forest, the travelers laughed. After all, they were not superstitious fools. Besides, everyone knew that even if the Wraith _did_ exist -- which they didn’t, of course -- the Wraith had died out at least a thousand years ago. 

“Perhaps we should take another path, nonetheless,” one of their group suggested softly, studying the earnest expression on the townsman’s face, but he was one of the three condemned men being brought back to his homeland for execution, and the rest of the travelers already considered him one of the dead, and so he was ignored. 

“Please,” the townsman said, voice filled with heartfelt conviction and barely withheld fear. “Please, the Wraith will devour you all if you set foot in his woods.” 

But the travelers brushed aside his pleas with contemptuous laughter and continued on, down the winding path that would lead them through the woods and to the borders of the land of their birth. The path quickly grew rough and almost unmanageable, and many of the men, impatient to see their beloved homeland once more, cursed when they realized that they would not make it out of the woods before dawn. If it was also the quiet unease that they did not want to be in this forest after the townsman’s warning that made them curse, none mentioned it, not even the blue-eyed prisoner, who simply adjusted his spectacles and watched the woods around him with an intense, curious gaze. 

They found a clearing next to the path, and settled down for the night, building a fire and cooking a simple meal. It was just as the soup was being distributed that a man emerged from the recesses of the forest, appearing among the travelers like a ghost. 

The leader of the travelers was taken aback for a moment, but he was a true believer of the laws of hospitality, and after a moment of surprise, he recovered and invited the newcomer to join them in the meal. If his tone was a bit unenthusiastic and his gaze a bit doubtful as he gazed upon the stranger, none commented on it. 

The stranger smiled at that. He was shockingly pale, this newcomer, with flesh the color of bleached bone. His skin was made still paler in the flickering firelight, his eyes the same shade as the purest flame, and his smile crooked and half-amused, half-ironic. “Thank you for your hospitality,” was all he said, and then he settled himself down on a log, reaching out with his impossibly pale hands for a bowl. 

Those who had frozen in fear and thought “Wraith!” when the stranger had appeared now silently chided themselves for being foolish. After all, while the man _was_ incredibly pale, he could not be a Wraith -- the Wraith were tall and slender, and this stranger was of average height and broad-shouldered. Nor did he have fangs, and _everyone_ knew that the Wraith were kin to vampyres. 

Still, the stranger was peculiar, there was no doubt about that. He ate as though it had been a century since his last meal, keeping each spoonful in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. One might have thought he was savoring the meal, were it not for his demeanor -- his eyes were shadowed and his expression bleak, as though each mouthful tasted like ashes on his tongue. 

When the stranger finally finished his meal, the leader cleared his throat. “Stranger, I hope that the meal was to your satisfaction. Will you tell us who you are and where you hail from?” 

The stranger was silent for a moment, staring into the flames. At last, he lifted his head and met the leader’s gaze, smiling the same half-amused, half-ironic smile as before. When he spoke, his tone was straightforward. “Yes, you have been a generous host, and I thank you for it. Before I answer your questions, however, I have one of my own. Were you not warned that these woods are the territory of a Wraith?” 

Immediately, the travelers broke into scornful laughter. The Wraith were a fairy tale, meant to frighten children into behaving, they informed the stranger, all save for the one prisoner, who had been watching the stranger intently and now said quietly, “A townsman warned us that should we venture into the woods, the Wraith would devour us all.” 

The stranger smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, but one cold and contemptuous, with cruelty lurking at the edges. “You should have heeded the townsman’s warning.” He stood, and suddenly his eyes were the pitiless blue of the sky just before a monsoon dashed a ship onto the rocks. “However, since you welcomed me and fed me a meal, I shall be generous and not devour you all. Just one.” 

Silence, and then the leader snarled, face purpling in fury. “A cruel jest, after our hospitality? Get away from our fire and make your own way through the woods!” His hand closed around the stranger’s elbow, and then in the next instant, the leader screamed and fell back, clutching his broken arm. The other travelers stared, wide-eyed, the color leeching from their faces, for the stranger had moved so quickly that none had seen him move. 

The cold smile still curved the stranger’s lips, and he raised an eyebrow. “Well? Which one of you will it be?” 

The leader moaned softly, still clutching his arm, and finally choked out, “We didn’t-- we didn’t….” 

“Know?” said the stranger -- the Wraith, though he did not seem at all like the Wraith of the legends, so perhaps he was simply a man possessed by a demon who preyed upon travelers and masqueraded as a Wraith. Cruelty darkened his smile even more. “Ah, but you _did_.” 

The leader kept going, desperation coloring his words. “You-- you always devour the travelers in-- in your woods? Is there no, no bargain we could strike? No agreement?” 

The stranger shrugged. “The bargain is that because of the soup you provided, I only eat one of your group.” 

“Is there no other way for us to pass through your woods unharmed?” the leader persisted, and the stranger sighed, the cruel look shifting to one of exasperation. 

“There is-- little to do in these woods, passing the time until fools like you enter my woods,” he admitted grudgingly. “I find myself-- bored, at times. Perhaps….” The stranger paused, and then suddenly smiled. It was the same half-amused, half-ironic smile as before, though with a tinge of malice that had not been there earlier. “I propose a game. Each one of you will tell me a story, a tale of woe that moves you personally to tears, and if even one of you earns a tear from my eye, I will let you all pass through my woods unharmed. If I remain unmoved, however, you will choose one of your group to be sacrificed.” 

“Can Wraith weep?” the blue-eyed prisoner asked, and ignored the dark look the stranger directed towards him. Unlike the rest of his company, the prisoner was calm and seemingly unconcerned about the demonic creature in their midst. “It would hardly be a fair bargain if you were physically unable to weep.” 

“I can weep,” the stranger said curtly, and then raised an impatient eyebrow. “Well?” 

The travelers looked among themselves. The stranger, especially if he were the demon he appeared to be, did not seem like one with a heart in his chest, but perhaps, perhaps he could be moved to grief. In either case, it gained them a few hours time before one of them was sacrificed. 

“We agree to your bargain,” the leader said, and began his story. 

The stranger settled himself down on a log and listened, his blue gaze focused on each storyteller as they described various tales of sorrow, of lovers lost and hopes destroyed and cruel fates. Each one left the stranger unmoved, his empty expression like one carved of marble, his eyes focused but impassive. 

Finally, it was just the three condemned prisoners who had not offered up a tale, and the stranger raised an eyebrow when the leader cleared his throat and said, voice cracking halfway through, “I suppose you can have your pick. We will not choose among us.” 

“They haven’t spoken,” the stranger pointed out, gesturing towards the three prisoners, and the leader looked startled, for he had honestly forgotten that the three men existed. The stranger gestured once more at the prisoners. “Go on then.” 

At last, there was only the blue-eyed prisoner left who’d not offered a tale, and the entire group stared at him, drinking in his pensive expression and the way the firelight reflected in the glass of his spectacles. Perhaps he had listened to all these stories and figured out what would reach the stranger’s heart. The prisoner took off his spectacles, and rubbed his face for a moment, and then looked up and squarely met the stranger’s gaze. 

“I shall tell you a tale, the story of a man who is well known among many realms. The man was the king of his people, benevolent, wise, rich beyond imagining. The only blessing he did not have was that his queen had never given birth to a son. Still, their daughter was beautiful beyond belief. It is said that the princess could bewitch a man’s heart with just a smile, and so the king was content. In fact, he believed himself the luckiest, happiest man on earth.

“Now, the king had ruled for many years when an illness struck his realm. It was a terrible sickness, destroying entire villages. None of the doctors of the realm could figure out how to save these poor souls, and the king was distraught that he could not help his people. Then the queen was stricken, and in desperation, the king reached out for the aid of his nearest ally, who was said to have doctors of great renown.” The prisoner paused then, and offered up a self-deprecating little smile. “The nearest ally was my empire, and I was one of those doctors who had earned such fame. The emperor swore to the king that I would be able to cure this terrible sickness, and should I fail, he would personally strike me down.

“And so I straightaway went to the palace, where the queen lay stricken. By the time I got there, however, the kingdom was in mourning, for the queen had died and now the princess was ill. The king met me in the throne-room. He was dressed in black, and never such a look of woe have I seen on a man’s face. He -- a king, a man rich beyond imagining -- clutched my hand and begged me to save his daughter. I used every herb, every skill I knew to try and save her, but it was all in vain. Within a fortnight all of her beauty had been leeched from her, and after two more days, her last breath rattled from her lips and she died. The king was grief-stricken, and I was delivered to the ambassador of my empire, to be sent back for my execution.” 

He faltered then, and added, softly, “I am told, though I do not know the truth of this, that the king threw himself into his daughter’s grave and ordered himself to be buried with her. All I can say is, remembering the wild grief in his eyes, that I would not be surprised if this turned out to be the truth.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then the stranger said, “I suppose I am to pity you, for being executed for your emperor’s foolish promise?” 

The prisoner blinked, and looked honestly surprised. “No. You are to pity the king, whose power and wisdom came to naught. He was the happiest man in the world for a time, and yet he had it all snatched away by Death.” 

The marble look softened for an instant, and the stranger repeated to himself, a melancholy note creeping into his voice, “The happiest man in the world for a time. Yes, I….” and then looked away, falling silent, but there was no gleam of tears in his eyes, just bleak misery. After a moment, he said slowly, “Well, I have not wept. Which one of you will it be?” 

“How can you be so unmoved by all of these stories?” the leader demanded. “I think you are heartless, that you really cannot weep, because whoever heard of a _Wraith_ crying? This was no bargain at all--” 

“Be quiet,” the stranger said coldly. “I am not heartless, as you suppose. It is simply that each of your stories of grief are pitiful compared to _mine_.” 

“Yours?” the prisoner said, and the stranger laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. 

“Yes, mine.” The stranger rose to his feet and began to pace around the fire, ignoring the travelers who flinched away from him. “Mine, because I was-- I was happy once.” He paused, and suddenly appeared weary, as though the memories of that lost time now sapped his strength. 

“About nine thousand years ago, there was a realm that ruled above all the lands, a place called Atlantis. We were powerful, with technology far beyond anything you poor fools will ever see in your lifetime. Why, we could almost control the weather. Atlantis was beautiful and glorious, and we knew our golden age would stretch on forever. 

“And then, of course, the Wraith came. They descended upon the land, snatching up men and women, the elders and the children without mercy, devouring the years of their lives. And so there was a war. And we, though we had incredible technology that could almost control time itself, were unprepared for such a thing, for we had grown complacent. And so we fought and died, struggled against the Wraith and lost battle after battle, until at last there was only the main city left. And there we made our stand, the poor, hopeless fools that we were, thinking that perhaps we could still defeat them.” He paused, and this time his laughter was harsh. “Hopeless fools. My lover and I, we believed that if we created a serum, a-- a potion, if you will, that could change these Wraith into humans, we could stop the siege and gain victory. Instead-- instead when the Wraith finally stormed the city, they took my lover and….” 

He faltered there, and his expression was such that many of the travelers trembled in a mixture of sympathetic grief and fear. “They seized our precious serum, reversed its effect, and after they feasted upon my queen and my friends, they used the serum to make my lover and I into crossbreeds who look like humans but must feed as the Wraith do, and cast us out into the world. It wasn’t three days before my lover killed himself and then-- and then I was the last of my people. The only one left who’d viewed the untouched citadel washed by the blues and purples of the sunrise, heard Queen Elizabeth laugh as she sat upon her throne and joked with the courtiers, seen John smiling that vague smirk of his as he challenged Teyla to a training exercise, watched Carson bent over his medical equipment, engrossed by his latest experiment--” 

Further words of his loss died in his throat, and then the stranger said slowly, “So no, I am not heartless. You all have simply never reached my depth of despair, and so I have no tears to give you.” 

“I will be the sacrifice,” the prisoner said, and the rest of the travelers stared at his pale, set expression. He inclined his head; the stranger looked at him for a long moment, and then said quietly, “That is acceptable.” 

The travelers did not argue. After all, the prisoner already had a death sentence; his execution would merely come earlier than anticipated. They wasted no time in gathering their belongings and fleeing the clearing, where death would soon visit, and soon there were just two still figures in the clearing, the fire casting shadows on their faces. 

The prisoner’s expression was still pale and set, even as the “hybrid” reached out his hand, palm outstretched, in a gesture that could have been mistaken for a lover’s greeting, were it not for the mark on his hand that seemed like a wound. “One question, if I may,” the prisoner said quietly, even as the stranger’s hand hovered above his chest. “Why did you not kill yourself when your lover did?” 

The stranger paused, and smiled. It was a broken look that softened the hard melancholy in his gaze and turned it into something bittersweet. “Because then Atlantis would be forgotten, lost forever. Because I was a coward. Because I wanted to live and destroy every last Wraith, one by one, to avenge my people. Whichever pleases you most.” 

“It was you who destroyed the Wraith?” When the stranger nodded, the prisoner smiled slightly. “I am honored then.” 

The stranger looked at him for a long moment, face twisting as a hundred various emotions warred for dominance upon his face, and then his hand dropped and he said quietly, “Go.” As the prisoner just stared, he said, louder, “Go. Back to the town, go off your execution, I don’t care. _Go_!” 

Astonishment naked on the prisoner’s face, he took a step back, away from the stranger, towards the direction of the town, and then he said softly, “Thank you. My name-- my name is Radek,” and fled. 

There was silence, save for the crackling of the flame, as the stranger watched him go. After a long moment, a soft “Radek” filled the air, as though he was trying to taste the name on his lips. 

It was three days later that a lone traveler made his way down the winding path, weighed down by a bundle upon his back. He didn’t even flinch when an incredulous voice said from above him, “You went back to town, to safety, so what are you _doing_?” 

Radek looked up and smiled at the stranger perched in the tree, who was staring at him with bewildered blue eyes. “Bringing you paper. I thought, since you are apparently immortal, you would have time to write a history of Atlantis.” 

The stranger stared for another moment, and then smirked ever-so-slightly, and dropped down to land next to Radek. “I have more than enough time.”


End file.
